


Vorel, Simic Paragon

by Chulane



Category: Magic: The Gathering (Card Game)
Genre: Abuse, Canon Compliant, Gen, Gruul Clans, Simic Combine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:29:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29576835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chulane/pseuds/Chulane
Summary: Vorel, of the hull clade. The gruul barbarian turned simic hybrid. He ran as the champion of the simic combine against Jace Beleren in the implicit maze, and led Simic forces against Bolas' eternal army. In this short story he returns to his childhood home.
Kudos: 3





	Vorel, Simic Paragon

The cobblestone road before Vorel cut off abruptly, like the person making it gave up halfway through. But looking closer you could still see the faint imprints of stones and the way the weeds grew still seemed to follow the crevices of old stone. Vorel could see perfectly the image of young kids in animal pelts and rough hide clothes using sticks to pry up the bricks. He thought of how they would do it to show the other members of their clan just how much they hated the city, nevermind the fact that without the man-made paths the ground turned to mud with such suction power you had to remove your thin-soled shoes to walk on them. That wouldn’t be much of a problem this time, the metal boots strapped to his feet were designed to make him move lighter, such that he could even get a few steps on water. They were made to move fast over wet and difficult terrain. Future Simic prime speaker Vannifar had firmly advised against Vorel going, she had even made several very good arguments.

“They’re savages Vorel, and they hate you, you’re strong but I wouldn’t be surprised if this whole thing isn’t just to jump you with half a dozen cyclops’!”

“I could take a half dozen cyclops.”

“Hah, but that is exactly my reasoning for why you shouldn’t engage! I need you here with me, I can not have you going out of commission on me for even a week! Zegana isn’t blind, she knows full well that we plan to- to remove her from her position!”

“It will be for only half a day.”

“Vorel-”

“And this is not a military Vannifar.”

“Not yet, at least.”

“The Simic are not so barbaric.”

Vorel’s frown deepened and he looked from the muddy path to the towering canopy of trees that made a bulwark against the city. Vorel walked leaving barely an indent on the path to the beginning of the forest. It was obviously not fully natural, and that magic had helped the trees grow years in days; most likely it was Zhur-Taa magic, Borborygmos might be the strongest and loudest member of the Gruul, but the Simic had always considered Nikya the most dangerous. She and her shamans were unlike the other Gruul clans. They weakened their enemies first, sabotage and sowing doubt, and once they had sent through their legions of cyclops, Zhur-Taa druids came back through, and in a matter of days, the only evidence of childhood homes were the bed frames embedded in the branches of trees. Vorel noted that the tree line marking Gruul territory had extended forward by a couple of meters since last the time the Simic had noted; but by the pillars of white smoke in the distance, Vorel guessed that the Boros would handle it. So he continued forward swiftly.

Though his fins were wrapped behind a headwrap and hood, Vorel made every effort to listen to the forest. Despite his bulk, Vorel had learned to move soundlessly through the woods, and with his Simic engineered boots, he was a ghost. Vorel guessed that now with the help of the Simic Combine there were very few things left in the rubble-belts that he couldn’t take; all the same the boars were vicious and were bred to attack any travelers that they saw were alone. The forest was entirely foreign to Vorel, it had been over a decade since he’d been here; but by the layers of caked ash on the ground like growth rings, it was obvious that the Legion had burned it down several times, only to be fully regrown in a month.

After an hour of creeping along the trail, Vorel began to find some familiar landmarks, trees bent in zig-zagging patterns and giant boulders with archaic drawings telling how they were brought as shows of strength from the Red mountains. At the sight of a large stone cairn by a tilted tree Vorel diverged from the rutted main path and into the undergrowth. He was far from the treeline now, and the plants he walked on may have actually been grown naturally, but that gave him zero comfort. The rutted path he had been on would have become monitored in about a hundred yards. Vorel continued his journey, now without the road, he was forced to go much slower to avoid detection of not only boars but of clan members. It was another hour before he reached the borders of the clan, and another hour to circle the main camp to his destination.

Tucked far behind the camp and well into boar territory stood a house. More of a rubble pile than a house. It was built into a small hill and relied on a giant dirt clog as a wall that even in Vorels time was falling apart. Most of the rest of the ‘building’ was just rickety wooden posts and vermin chewed blankets strew together. To the right of the front door was her garden, or what remained of it. At some point, someone had built a large fence along the outside of the house with a rough door fixed to the north side. Since the fence couldn’t have been older than 12 years Vorel would have guessed it was 12 years, rotten planks and missing boards raised the question if it was there for anything but show.

Far off to the side of the yard, he could see the family graveyard, un-sculpted stones jutting out of the ground to mark each body. There were two more than there had been.

Sighing Vorel slipped out of the trees and pulled his basic cloak tighter to hide as much of his armor and skin as he could, and walked to the front of the shack. Every step seemed a wave of nostalgia, that Vorel suppressed like a bout of nausea. The small wooden bridge over the wash where his siblings and he would build civilizations in the mud to destroy with rocks. The random holes all around the yard that had been tasked to be dug just to make young hands tired. The ruined walls of his mother's raised planters, he paused just to stare at them. Those planter boxes had more protective charms on them than anything in the Burning-tree camp. His mother had promised to give them food, but nothing else.

Keeping his cloak tight Vorel hit the door with his knuckles lightly, there was no response. He tapped lightly again and waited for a minute or two. He growled and banged his fist against the plank of wood that pretended to be a door.

“Govell, you better-” the door opened, which was lucky as it probably only had a couple more knocks till Vorel would have broken it. A young man, a teenager, poked his head out from inside, he had a thin neck and bulging orange eyes, reminiscent of a starving cat. He looked scared.

“Govell isn’t here!” He squeaked like a dying rat.

Vorel’s eyes narrowed behind shaded glasses.

“Where has she gone?”

His eyes darted wildly as if the holes in the yard behind Vorel might give him a proper excuse. Vorel frowned, and his face fell in terror. Before he could even move to close the door Vorel was opening it and brushing past him. It was dark inside and the stench of blood and body odor seemed to ooze from the ground itself. Vorel’s eyes adjusted instantly to the dark and it showed a solitary bed, and on the other side of the room, a teenager-sized indent with a padding of leaves. On the leaves lay a human baby, turned away from him. 

Vorel looked around the room, it was empty, his eyes fell to the child on the floor.

“Why is it on the floor.”

“Sh- sh- he said- I- Govells not here!”

Vorel wanted to turn the child to him, just to make sure, it was so motionless. He turned to the man and said, “Is Govell your wife?”

He looked ready to cry but nodded. Vorel allowed his face to show sadness and pity, he looked towards the open door and asked. 

“When will she be home.”

“S- soon, that’s why you-”

Vorel cut his brother-in-law off and said “I will wait for her.”

His hands moved frantically and his mouth opened and closed like a fish, but he made no objections. Vorel just watched him. He cowered under his gaze. Vorel looked back at the child.

“Why is it not on the bed.”

He looked down, “that’s Govells bed.”

Vorel's brow lowered and he bent to the floor and picked the child up delicately in scaled hands. The man gasped at the sight. Vorel held his niece to his eyes and took her in. She was thin and sickly, like her father, but was the spitting image of her mother. The child would not survive to even be her father's age.

Vorel felt her cold skin and listened to her slow pulse. He brushed her wispy colorless hair aside; feeling touch she made a movement so sudden and quick it surprised Vorel, a small hand reached out and felt his wrist. Vorel tilted his head and slowly slid his hand down so that the little fingers could lay on his palm. His mind had been made even before the sound of footsteps had become audible. With one hand he held his niece and with the other, he pulled off his glasses. The man let out a little cry as she saw the anger in Vorel’s pupil-less fluorescent green eyes. With purposeful footsteps, Vorel exited the house to see what kind of failure his sister had become.

It was overcast outside, the kind that washed everything in grey light and gave no inclination of where the sun was in the sky. A hunched loosely dressed female was crossing the small bridge across the wash in the yard, she was unshaven and small. The human looked up and took a step back, leather shoes on old wood.

“Who de devil are ya?” Her voice had a thick Gruul accent horribly similar to the one Vorel had spent months losing.

Vorel glowered down at the pitiful human before him, he pulled down his hood and wrappings, letting his fins extend. Though Vorel had been much shorter in his youth he now had at least 60 centimeters on his sister thanks to Simic engineering.

He had been hoping for fear but instead, disgust appeared on the face.

“Vorel,” the human growled.

“Govell. What scum you have become.”

The human sneered and spat on the ground in front of Vorel, “you’a fish freak.”

His family had not been bulky, they had not been strong, but Vorel had been smart. He had convinced his sister and together they had worked to build muscles on weak bones, and Vorel, every opportunity he had, went to the front lines to watch the Gruul fight Boros soldiers. The pair had decided without ever saying it, that they were going to do big things. But somehow it had escaped Vorel that his sister didn’t need him to do those ‘big things.’

When Vorel's troop was the soul troop to return from the engagement, no one was glad to see them. They were cowards, Vorel had chosen their lives over the pride of their clan. Her accusations still rang in Vorel's head, that Vorel was a coward, weak, conniving, more Dimir than Gruul. With Govells encouraging, it only took a matter of minutes before every clan member there had decided that the coward needed to be purged. Vorel could still tell exactly where her fist had connected with his face as she threw him away.

“Ge’ ou here!” Her words felt convincing but seemed weak against Vorel's stone face.

“Why did you call me here sister.” She stared, panting at him as if the three sentences she’d spoken had been miles ran.

“I tol’ ya nes week idiot!”

“Yes, I believe you did. But I thought you would not mind much if I showed up early. It has been so long since we have seen each other. Thought we might have time to get reacquainted.”

Her eyes darted between potholes as if one might tell her what reacquainted meant.

Vorel advanced as a soldier would. Strong steps and a face locked onto his target, holding his niece to his chest.

“Wha yur doing?” Govell snarled as Vorel's height and bulk seemed to dawn on her. Vorel reached her before she could turn around. With one fist he grabbed hold of the front of her shirt and brought her face directly in front of his.

“I see from the added headstone that it was not mother who sent me that letter! But that it was from a sniveling weak piece of filth; tha’ planned tah finish off ‘er own brother with her friends for having the audacity tah care about dah lives of others!” Even as Vorel contorted his face and extended his frills to their full effect, the woman would not show fear. Vorel stared into his sister's eyes, seeing his own eyes reflected in hers, pinpricks of an unnatural color. He searched her face for some trace of regret, for some sign of fear, for doubt, for anything that wasn’t just anger, that wasn’t just blind hatred and rage.

Vorel's face relaxed and his eyes fell, he wondered if she’d always been like this, if he’d just been too young to see it. He threw her aside, she landed lamely on her butt in the wash. Vorel stared down at her contorted face, he opened his mouth to say something, but it seemed pointless. So he turned to leave, as soon as he was away from the ditch his sister began screaming swears and profanities at his retreating back. But it was the scratchy desperate sound of a young voice that made him pause.

“Plees’ down take my dau’ter!”

Vorel looked back at the man, his thin neck, his loose clothing, his tear-stained face. Then he looked to his niece’s hollowed cheeks and wondered if he’d ever learned what color her eyes were. Vorel extended a hand to his brother-in-law.

“Down yah dare yah whore!” A voice cried from below

Vorel looked up to stare exactly into his eyes, the man seemed to wince as if the eye contact hurt. He stuttered and shifted, and fell to his knees. His weak voice began.

“Plees’ just-”

“Let her die?” Vorel worked to not show his contempt as he looked down at the groveling father. And as the beggar's eyes darted along the treeline Vorel thought to himself I will teach her to focus on who she was speaking to.

\--o--

Early the next morning Vorel stood in an immaculately clean office, an untidy stack of papers on Vannifars desk being the only thing out of order. The fluorescent blue eyes of the hybrid looked Vorel up and down.

“You’re standing up straighter Vorel.”

Vorel said nothing and only looked directly forward. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Vannifar raise an eyebrow.

“How was your trip back home?” 

Vorel cleared his throat. “What you said was correct sir.”

“Oh? So you got jumped by some cyclops’?”

Vorel's eyes stayed locked forward, his heels together, his back straight. His mind resolute.

“No sir. I mean that when you said that the Simic needed a military. You were correct.”


End file.
